


Drunk Drivers, Red Lights, & Answer B

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e22 Two Cathedrals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-03
Updated: 2004-03-03
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: A 500 word drabble of Josh's thoughts duringTwo Cathedrals





	Drunk Drivers, Red Lights, & Answer B

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

Drunk Drivers, Red Lights, & Answer B

**Drunk Drivers, Red Lights, & Answer B**

**by:** MiaSnape

**Character(s):** Josh  
**Pairing(s):** none  
**Category(s):** General/Post-ep   
**Rating:** G  
**Disclaimer:** I own none of it.  
**Summary:** A 500 word drabble of Josh’s thoughts during _Two Cathedrals_.  
**Spoiler:** Two Cathedrals  
**Author's Note:** This is just something I had to write.  It’s the first thing I’ve ever written in the West Wing fandom, and I’m a bit intimidated by the fandom, but we all have to start somewhere if we want to start.  I’m starting here, and I’d appreciate any reviews at [miasnape@yahoo.co.uk](mailto:miasnape@yahoo.co.uk) so that I’ll have a clue how to continue writing The West Wing fiction. 

A drunk driver ran a red light, and she’s gone now.

I find it kind of strange that it was a woman, because 91% of drunk drivers are men.

My life has become a mass of statistics and things other people have discovered.

It was over a week ago that Donna told me that she had been in a car accident; at least I think it has.  My life is also something I think of, time wise, in terms of the revelation the President has just made.  And yet, I’m thinking of her revelation tonight - Donna’s.

A drunk driver ran a red light, and I wonder what might have happened if Donna was gone now.

Would I even have found out?  Would her father, her mother, her sisters, her friends, whoever, would they have known to let us at Bartlet For America know that she had gone, or would the stuff on my desk just have kept on piling up until Leo forced another assistant on me the way he kept threatening to?  Would we have won the campaign if Donna hadn’t came back and shoved that memo in my hands telling me to phone the South Carolina Governor to ask for a photo-op when we stopped there.

But she came back, and I believed that it was a late thaw, and everything was fine.

But now, it’s not fine, because Mrs Landingham died and the President’s sick and I keep hearing Ave Maria in my head, which is even weirder, because music’s supposed to scare me, but this piece doesn’t.  Which is good, because I’m scared enough already.

The President goes on to The Press Conference in ten minutes, and I’m sitting in my office, alone for the first time today, thinking about Schubert and cookies in a glass jar and late thaws and red lights and sirens and Answer B.

I don’t know how to dance the Tarantella, and I certainly wouldn’t want to do it on the Truman Balcony.

And suddenly I’m thinking about Zoey and Ellie and Liz and little Annie and baby Gus and how Gus will never know about Mrs Landingham except from photos and other people’s memories.

And now I’m wondering how the President would ever cope if he lost his memory, and now I’m wondering how I would cope if he ever lost his memory.

‘Lack of cognitive function.’  The inability to rationalize and express thought in a coherent manner.

There are times when I think I think too much.

But my ten-minute break is up, and Donna, Donna who didn’t slip on the ice, is handing me my coat and tidying away the memo I hadn’t even glanced at in the last ten minutes.

And we’re walking, all of us, and it’s raining, and we’re getting wet, but it doesn’t matter, because we’ll dry, and because our fathers always told us a little rainwater never hurt anyone.  

But really it won’t matter because of drunk drivers, red lights, and Answer B.


End file.
